


Orc Tales

by orphan_account



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Disability, F/F, Ficlet Collection, Fluff, Free Orcs, Gen, Legends, Love, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-War of the Ring, all orcs are female, and orcs in particular, because ladies are badass and scary and Melkor knew it, but they should all be able to coexist I think, every single one of them, retelling of the creation of the races of middle-earth, they are not all linked
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-06
Updated: 2014-02-15
Packaged: 2018-01-11 10:33:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1172018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tales of Orcs who rebelled against the ones who made and enslaved them<br/>Legends, and individual stories</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Of the creation of Orcs, and of their freedom

**Author's Note:**

> Anyone who follow my tumblr might be aware that I have a slight obsession with free orcs. It's been there for a while, but Thorinsmut's Diplomatic Relations was a kick to finally start doing something with these ideas
> 
> And so, let's start with the story of free orcs  
> The one they say and sing to one another at night, when their fire is warm and the stars shine bright

For beauty, the lady breathed the elves. They were made unchanging, for beauty. But the lady could no more for them,  they were unchanging.

For strength, the lady breathed the dwarves. They were made clever, for strength. But the lady could no more for them, they were clever.

For hope, the lady breathed the men. They were quiwk to bear, for hope. The lady was happy, she could guide them. But the men had too many children, they forgot her.

Its was war, the lady didn’t breathe the orcs. For killing, the lord breathed the orcs. He was a rebel, he hated the world of the lady. The orcs were always changing, clever and quick to bear, they were made for war. Hate was in their heart, they were made for war. The lord gave them mounts, for better wars. They were orcs and wargs, they were made for war. The lady was not happy, her children were being killed.

One day there was a great warrior, she was fierce. She looked at her warg, it gave her happiness. “My kin of battles, I want her alive and happy. The lord would let her die, for power. For my kin of battles, I no longer serve the Lord.”

The lord had her killed, she spoke of love. She was a mother, a sister, a daughter, there was anger. There was a great fight, the orcs loved. Some escaped the lord, they loved.

Out of curiosity, the lady looked at the loving orcs and spoke. “Why did you leave the lord?”

The free orcs stood, they were proud. “We wanted to protect our kins of battle, we love them. We wanted to protect our daughters, our mothers, our sisters, we love them.”

The lady saw their love, it was strong. The lady did not breathe the orcs, they were unwanted. But the lady adopted the loving orcs, out of her own love. And the lady was happy, they fought for her. And the lady was happy, they loved her. 


	2. The war is lost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An orc meets two young humans, and doesn't know what to do

Ktennie looked at the fawns, and hesitated.

There were two of them. One who, among orcs, would have started going into battle very soon. The other was much younger, barely walking, and so the older one was dragging a goat on a rope. For milk, Ktennie supposed. Children needed milk.

Only, they weren't children, they were little humans.

She would have killed them. Humans were enemies, and she had been trained all her life to kill her enemies. She would have killed them... but they were so tired and lost and despaired that when they'd seen Ktennie, they hadn't been afraid. Or at least, not enough to scream or run or try to protect themselves.

They had just looked at her, and she was looking back.

She should have killed them. She was an orc and they were not. She should have killed them.

But she'd had a sister, once. One who had clung to her in the darkness the exact same way the youngest of the two clung to the elder. That sister was long dead now. One day, a stronger orc had took a dislike of her and slit her throat. It was forbidden, but Ktennie still missed her sometimes...

But there wasn't anyone to forbid her to miss her sister, not anymore. Their army had been defeated weeks ago, most of them had been exterminated by bands of men... Ktennie had only survived because she was small, and good at hiding.

The two went together. When you were small, you learned to hide.

But she'd grown to regret that skill, because she was alone now. Orcs weren't meant to be alone. It made them want to look up at the stars... and that was forbidden even _more_ than missing a sister.

She looked at the little humans again. They should not have been there, so far from any village of their kind. They should not have been alone. They should not have clung to one another the way young orcs did, deep in the mountain... because the lives of little humans was easy and good and it had food and clothes, and other things the orcs had no words for. The children told a story, deep in the mountain. They said if you were lucky, and you died before your first kill, your soul would become a little human, and you would never be hurt again.

The little humans should have been scared of her. If they weren't, it meant they had met worse things than an orc in their lives.

“If you kill us, can you kill my sister first?” the older little one asked, and his voice was so hoarse that it made Ktennie flinch. “She's little, she'll get scared if she sees me die. I don't want her to be scared.”

The orc hesitated. She should have done it. Killing humans was her purpose.

Instead, she took her last piece of bread, and carefully threw it at the little human who almost let it fall to the ground. It wasn't good food, not by any standards... but it was food nonetheless. Ktennie could hunt. The little humans couldn't. The bread could make they go on for another few days.

She turned away then.

They probably wouldn't eat the bread, but she had done all she could for them, and that was what mattered.

Maybe now when she'd die, she'd get to be a human child, in spite of all her killings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm too tired these days to write more right now but  
> the kids follow Ktennie after that, and they become one sweet but strange family.  
> They gaze a the stars together.


	3. First night of spring

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> femslash friday+valentine day+orc obsession  
> here, have cute teenage orcs in love /o/

Drhen smiled proudly to herself as she looked at the present she had just finished. It wasn't the best vase the world had ever seen, but it wasn't made to be _seen_ anyway. Still, she showed it to her mother, her aunts, and even her little sisters, who all agreed that it was a very nice present, and that it would make Tirkhan very happy.

“She'd have to be a fool to refuse it,” Drhen's mother told her, and she nodded silently.

She knew the vase was a good one and Tirkhan would like it. What she didn't know was whether she would like Drhen herself enough to accept a present from her on the first night of spring. They had been friends for a while, but not all friends wanted to become lovers, and not all friendships survived a declaration of love. Dhren hoped that they would still be at least friends after this. She didn't want to lose Tirkhan, who told the best of jokes, and was a great weaver and an amazing singer.

Dhren let her mother put a flower crown on her head (“it's spring and I don't care that you're too old for this, you will wear it!”) and she made sure that her sisters were on their way to check on the goats, and then she ran to Tirkhan's place.

Her friend was waiting for her, like every night, with a beautiful smile on her face. Drhen knew that objectively, Tirkhan wasn't all that pretty, with a skin that was so gray it seemed blue compared to her own dark skin, and her mouth was too big with too much space between her front teeth, but who cared when she smiled so happily and sung like a rising star?

“You are let, little frog,” Tirkhan claimed. “Did your sisters lose a goat again?”

“I hope not, we've lost enough this winter,” Drhen grunted, dropping to sit next to her friend. Tirkhan sniffed, and smiled again.

“A flower crown?”

“My mother insisted, you know how she gets.”

“And I know you too, you'd have thrown the flowers away if you hadn't secretly liked it,” Tirkhan teased. “I'm glad you didn't, though. Raindrops are my favourite, you know.”

Drhen knew, and she'd talked so often about how lovely it was that Tirkhan loved raindrops that her mother _had_ to know it too. The crown had been no accident.

“What's the plan for tonight then?” Tirkhan asked. “I don't have any chores today. First night of spring and all. But I've got something to show you. Well, _show_. In a manner of speaking.”

Her fingers clenched on the small vase she was holding, Dhren forced on her face a smile that her friend couldn't see. If Tirkhan had something to show on that particular night, it might mean... but it could also be a coincidence. Tirkhan didn't always care about things like that, and she often seemed to be flirting, only for it to turn out to be entirely innocent.

It had happened a lot lately, and Drhen's oldest little sister swore that it just couldn't be an accident, but Drhen still wasn't sure. She wouldn't be sure until she'd given her gift.

“What is it you want to show me?”

“Surprise!” Tirkhan laughed, and Drhen had never wanted to touch her more. “It's near the old pear tree. Help me stand up, we'd better go now!”

Drhen jumped to her feet, and then gave Tirkhan her hand to help her up. It wasn't necessary, just as it wasn't necessary that she kept her friend's hand in her when they started walking. Tirkhan didn't need help, and anyone who tried to give it without being asked would regret it because she had a sharp tongue... but she always asked Drhen to help, even with things she could easily do alone, and Drhen didn't mind at all.

They didn't talk on their way to the pear tree. Any other day, Drhen would have wondered about that unusual silence, but she was too nervous about what she would say later, about the vase she was holding, about the warmth of Tirkhan's hand in hers. They got too the tree to slowly and too fast all at once.

And there was nothing to see, hear, or smell there. There was just the tree, which was still sleeping from the winter, and nothing else. Drhen turned to Tirkhan to ask what was supposed to be there, but the other orc suddenly pulled her closer, close enough to shyly lick her cheek. Drhen almost choked, and Tirkhan laughed nervously.

“It's the first night of spring,” she said, as if it explained it all.

It did.

It explained everything, and Drhen wondered if her friend's family had teased her too about the whole things, if Tirkhan had been as obvious in her affection as Drhen herself. If yes, then they really made a fine pair, the two of them, and everyone would laugh so much at them for taking so long to get together...

“I have a present for you,” Drhen announced ( _squealed_ , Tirkhan would say later, which was an awful lie). “Since it's the first night of spring.”

Tirkhan seemed to be surprised, but she smiled politely.

She all but shouted in delight when she first put her hands on the small vase, and felt the decorations on it. It didn't look like much, Drhen knew, but it was beautiful to touch, and she had hoped that Tirkhan would like it at least a little...

“It's wonderful!” she exclaimed, her fingers tracing the patterns again and again. “I've never... no one has ever done anything like this for me, and... oh, I'll put raindrops in it when I get home!But now I feel like my present for you wasn't good enough... just a kiss doesn't compare with this...”

“I wasn't even daring to hope for a kiss,” Dhren protested. “And just being with you is a present.”

“ _Flatterer_.”

“Still true. But if you feel like you owe me... how about you let me kiss you?”

“Well, I suppose I could make that sacrifice,” Tirkhan sighed, and Drhen punched her gently, before leaning to lick her cheek. This close, she could smell the other orc like never before, and combined with the taste of her skin it was the most intimate thing Drhen had ever known... And the night was just starting, and they had no chores waiting for them, not unless the goats had escaped again... and maybe not even then, because both their families knew that they were together, that it was the first night of spring, that they were in love....

No one probably expected them to come back until morning, and they were right not to.


	4. The first escape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There were always orcs trying to break free

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> During a discussion about free orcs on tumblr, rabbitinthewood mentioned the idea of the first orcs who got out, and their reaction to seeing the sky and feeling the world, and  
> this happened

Harweth fell to the ground, as did several of the old ones, and Terhon glanced around, looking for archers. She saw none. The only living creatures were the escaped orcs, and what few wargs had survived the revolt. If Harweth was hurt if was from an old wound, and they couldn't stop for that. They were just at the door of the Lord's tunnels, it was not a good place to rest.

Terhon knelt by Harweth's side and grab the crook of her elbow, trying to pull her up. In vain. The old one was weeping and babbling in her old tongue, that language of elf that none of the orcs had been allowed to learn. Terhon remembered asking to, even though it was forbidden, but Harweth had coldly refused. Not because the lord had forbidden it, but because inferior creatures couldn't be allowed to spoil a language that was a gift from the elves' god. Some days, Terhon wondered if Harweth realized that no elf would have recognised her for one of them.

“It's not the time for it!” the young orc growled. “Get up, we must move or they will catch up on us! Everyone, get up and get _walking_!”

Harweth glared at her, as she did every time someone dared to give her an order. Terhon had no patience for her little games, not when all their lives were in danger.

“We haven't been out here in centuries,”Harweth spat at her. “Look... look! Above you, the...” she paused, looking for a word, and finding none to describe in Orkish what was around them. “Just look, and see if you do not cry!”

It was a mistake to listen to the old one, but Terhon still looked up. She wished she hadn't, because above her head was a never-ending darkness, a ceiling so high that she could barely make out the lights attached to it. When she managed to tear her eyes from that endless voice, Harweth was looking at her with a smile, as if there was any joy to be found in that horror. Terhon, not for the first time, wondered if it had been a good idea to rebel against their lord... but then she heard one of the few surviving children laugh, and she knew she had been right.

The children never laughed for long under the ground.

“We have to move,” she claimed as loud as she could, and she was pleased to see all the young ones stand up and get ready to go.

The old ones only looked expectantly at Harweth.

“We are tired,” she told Terhon. “We need rest. We have been fighting and running for days!”

“And if we do not move now, there will be more fighting very soon.”

“I take no order from an _orc_. I am the lady Harweth of Doriath, my husband and I were healers of the king!”

“And I am Terhon of Angband, who got you out of your prison, who freed you from ever bearing more of these orcs you despise so much, and who even now is trying to keep you alive even though I have little sympathy for you, _elf_.”

At last the old ones all stood up, but it was to place themselves behind Harweth. Terhon cringed when she felt the young ones come behind her. They were not each other's enemies. The old ones hated the young because they were the proof of all that had been done to them, and the young ones hated the old for refusing them the stories of the outer world and for treating them as less than animals, but they were not each other's enemies. The enemy was the Lord down there, and all those who were still his slaves.

“I will not fight you,” Terhon said. “I do not want to fight you. I want to get away from here and put as much distance between them and us as is possible, that's all I want. They will catch us and torture us if we do not move.”

“We are tired, and they will not find us,” Harweth retorted. “They had as many loss and wounded as we did. They will need time to take care of them.”

Terhon didn't know if she should laugh or cry. The old ones knew many things, and yet nothing. They had so many stories that they shared between each other, but they understood nothing of what life was inside Angband. Because elves had healers, they thought that everyone cared for their wounded. They thought that because they were tired, others would be. They took pride in the fact that elves didn't spread like rabbits, but they did not realize that orcs were so many on purpose, so that there could always be some that were ready to fight.

Terhon despised the old ones, and she envied them. How nice it must have been to live a life that did not prepare you to exist in Angband.

“If you do not wish to go, then stay here,” she growled, and she was pleased to see Harweth flinch. “If the old ones want to listen to you and die, then so be it. But I have not gone so far to let my troupes perish on the door of their old prison. Stay if you want, we are leaving.”

“We do not need you,” Harweth retorted.

“And we don't need you either,” Terhon assured her, though she knew it to be a lie. The old ones probably knew what plant you could eat and what would kill you, they knew where the elves lived and how to talk to them to get help. Terhon knew everything about life as a slave, but the old ones knew about freedom and their help would have been so precious, it was the entire reason she'd insisted on freeing them...

But if they were too stupid to want to live, then the orcs would manage on their own. They learned fast, and the wargs had a good instinct, or so the Lorc had promised them every time he'd spoken of the war that would soon start. They had been made to survive anything, he told them, and certainly they could manage to survive freedom too.

There were no goodbyes as the orcs left behind them the creatures who still called themselves elves. Some of the younger ones were leaving behind their mothers, but even they didn't cry or show any emotion. The old ones weren't family, not really.

Other orcs and the wargs were who they turned to when they needed help or comfort. Other orcs and wargs were who they belonged with. Other orcs and wargs were who they would die side by side with, and they would die free, and they would die doing everything they could to remain free. They did not _need_ the old ones.

Still, a part of Terhon hoped that the old ones would manage to go back home to their kin, somehow. As much as she despised Harweth, she didn't want her mother to die before having seen again the place where she had been born, the one that made her cry every time it was mentioned.

And she hoped, too, that someday the orcs would find such a place for themselves.


End file.
